


how sweet and lovely you make the shame

by cze



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: But with a happy ending, Fluff in the second chapter, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, theo has a crisis because thats his Brand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-21 23:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cze/pseuds/cze
Summary: Theo and Boris have sex and Theo doesn't know what to do about it
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 39
Kudos: 407





	1. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theo and boris have sex and theo doesn't know what to do about it

How it happens is this: Theo and Boris meet to have brunch—an event Theo had previously thought was quite girly, but found he actually enjoyed after enough outings with Kitsey—since Theo hadn’t wanted to plan a dinner, afraid of what would happen after considering Boris’ usual nighttime activities (drugs, drinking, girls, none all of which Theo was making an effort to distance himself from). The other option was a lunch, but that felt too much like a business meeting to Theo, who has by this point gone on countless lunches with potential clients to the point where he no longer finds them an acceptable meal to have with friends if he can avoid it.

They weren’t meeting at a place as fancy as Theo had ever gone with Kitsey. Theo had found those places too stiff and formal and he knew he and Boris were anything but those things, especially when together. Instead they were at a diner style place, not too dingy, just a midlevel, average restaurant. The portion sizes here were big enough to accommodate Boris’ appetite, and the location was near the place Boris said he stays in in New York, making it a convenient place to meet.

Everything starts out fine. Theo arrives before Boris and nervously rearranges the few condiments on the table for the five minutes he has to wait for Boris to arrive. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, he’s spent more than enough time with Boris to be past this stage, but they haven’t seen each other much since Amsterdam and Antwerp, and he wants to have a good time. He wouldn’t admit it to Boris but he misses him, despite all the shit they got into the last time they spent more than a few hours together.

Of course, as soon as Boris slides into the seat across from him his nerves vanish. Boris talks enthusiastically, like always, about everything and nothing, and Theo listens happily, answering the questions Boris asks and telling his own stories when appropriate. It’s comfortable, and Theo is glad to be spending time like this with Boris again—time where their only goal is to enjoy each other’s company.

During the twenty minutes they spend chatting before their food comes, Theo can’t help but notice and appreciate, what looks like a new haircut on Boris. It isn’t much different from the style he’s always had—shaggy and curly and a little too long over his eyes—but it’s styled a little more. It looks like it’s been shaped a bit, maybe he has product in his hair, or has finally realized shampoo more than once every few weeks does in fact make a difference. What ever it is, it looks good, makes _Boris_ look good.

And there’s something else about Boris besides his hair that Theo can’t quite put his finger on. He’s not sure if it’s something physical too miniscule for him to pick out, or just a change in his overall atmosphere, but he does know that he can’t stop looking for it, sneaking the occasional glances as they eat, staring a little too intently as Boris speak.

It’s about halfway through their meal that Boris finally notices Theo’s more than excessive attention.

“Potter, why do you keep looking at me like that? Do I have twigs in my hair?” He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. It still looks good though, Theo doesn’t know why it looks so good.

Boris’ foot presses against Theo’s under the table. Theo doesn’t move his foot away.

“Is there something on my face? My shirt? I dressed up for you, you know,” Boris winks, and Theo feels something in his chest catch. “I should look good.” Boris shoved the last of his toast in his mouth. It was probably a full quarter of a slice and his cheeks are bulging slightly to accommodate it’s size. It’s almost as if he’s trying to prove himself wrong, stuffing his face like that, but Theo is too caught up in what Boris has just said to think much of how gross it is.

Boris had dressed up for him. He hopes he isn’t blushing as obviously as he feels like he is. Really, he shouldn’t even think anything of it, he had dressed up a little for Boris too after all—he’d put on a bit of nice cologne and worn nice shoes and a nice jacket over some of his more casual clothing. They were just old friends meeting for a meal, and didn’t all old friends do a little to impress one another when seeing each other for the first time in a while. Wasn’t some small part of meeting up with old friends about impressing one another, saying _look what I’ve done since I’ve seen you last_?

“Potter!” Boris exclaims, a little too loudly, barking out a laugh and jolting Theo out of his head. He still has a bit of bread in his mouth, it should be disgusting, but Theo barely notices. “You’re blushing like little girl! Do you like how I look?” He spreads his arms out like a smug playboy. His smile is bright as he does it and Theo can tell that if anything he’s only blushing harder.

“Shut up,” Theo tries to brush it off.

But Boris plows on, “You do like it don’t you.” He says this more as a fact than a question, leaning in over the table towards Theo like it’s a secret. “Hah! I am glad. I’ll be honest, spend a little more time than should have on all this.” He gestures to himself, and leans back in his seat. It’s such a douchey thing to do, but Theo finds it stupidly attractive when Boris does it.

Why does he find it attractive? This is Boris, his best friend, his brother almost. He’s never thought of him like this before, what’s changed since any of the other times they’ve been together.

Theo can admit that, objectively, Boris is attractive. He has the personality to pull off stupid douchey gestures and comments, and he has that certain _bad boy_ type look to him, that really, Theo thinks, it would be weird if he didn’t notice. But noticing doesn’t mean anything.

“You’re not special,” Theo finds himself blurting out, “I dressed up for you too.”

Boris’ eyebrows shoot up. His leg presses against Theo’s now. Theo still doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t know what they’re doing but he isn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Did not! I have seen the way you dress, Potter. This is less! Dressed down, not up!”

“What do you know about how I dress, we only see each other a few times a year,” Theo huffs, defensive.

“Is enough to know, Potter. You always wear fancy suits and jackets. Today you have just a shirt! Your pants have pattern, Potter! You don’t wear pants with patterns!”

“They’re new, and they’re Tom Ford, Boris. They’re casual but they’re nice.”

“Sure, sure, they’re patterned though. Should have worn slippers with them, you look like you’re going to bed.” Boris shovels a mouthful of eggs in his mouth. “Do look good though, Potter,” he points at him with his fork, “suits you.”

Theo doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Come to my place,” Boris says to Theo after they both pay their bills. He’s grinning at him, and Theo feels like they’re kids again, that first day off the bus together.

Really, he has no choice. He has no plans for the afternoon, and it’s a Sunday so the shop isn’t open. Theo wouldn’t even bother trying to make up an excuse, he knows Boris would just plow through anything he came up with is his usual Boris way.

And they both know Theo won’t say no to Boris. Theo doesn’t even try to deny it anymore. He followed Boris halfway around the world, he’ll follow him back home. Theo is helpless when is comes to an invitation from Boris.

Instead, he just asks: “Why?”

“I can’t show you where I live? I finally have place in New York and you don’t want to see?” Boris puts a hand over his heart dramatically “Am so upset, Potter. You hurt me.” He knows Theo is going to come though. He heads toward the exit and doesn’t even pretend they’re going to part ways as they push through the door of the diner out into the cold street. Boris doesn’t hesitate when he starts walking, doesn’t look back to see if Theo is following, just starts off in the direction of his apartment.

“You’re not going to call Gyuri?” Theo asks, half jogging a few steps to catch up with Boris after he’d lagged behind, stopped for a moment, searching the street for a car to climb into.

Boris waves a hand like he’s swatting at something. “No, is nice day and my place is close. Besides, we’ve walked a lot together, no? All the walking in Vegas we did. Was actually nice, think my legs grew because of it.”

“Boris, what the fuck are you talking about?” Theo asks, confused.

“Potter, you are not so stupid that you forget that we walked everywhere in Vegas. We were like old ladies with their walking clubs, how are they called? Does not matter. We walked a lot then, we can walk now. We’re not old yet!”

“I meant why would walking make your legs grow,” Theo says, accidentally brushing against Boris as he sidesteps a puddle. He’s sure he’s imagining it, but he thinks he’d felt Boris lean into him briefly. He’d pulls away too quickly to be sure of anything though.

“We walked every day, stretched our legs as they said, no? And if legs were stretched, they were longer. And what is it called when legs are longer?” Boris asks, rhetorically. “Growing.” Boris says all this as if it’s all basic fact.

“That is not at all how that works, Boris. And besides, how much did your legs really stretch since I’m taller now?” Theo asks.

“Then why would they say it stretches your legs,” Boris grumbles. “I’m shorter only because I had more coke when we were younger.”

“I’m sure that’s the reason,” Theo scoffs.

Boris pretends he doesn’t notice, or maybe he really doesn’t notice, considering he’s suddenly very interested in his phone.

“What is it?” Theo asks, suddenly nervous. Afraid Boris is going to have to go attend to business and will send him away.

“Oh,” Boris waves a hand in Theo’s direction, hits his shoulder by accident. “Is new place, I always forget which number building. All look the same, is very confusing.” He stops suddenly and squints at his phone and then the building next to them. “Aha! Is this one. Come, Potter.”

Boris places a hand on the small of Theo’s back to guide him through the doors. Theo flinches at the touch but Boris’ hand is gone before Theo has the chance to move away from it.

Boris’ apartment is not at all what Theo had expected, though Theo isn’t quite sure what he expected. The place is clean, though not exactly tidy, and for the most part it is fairly basic. A black leather couch facing a large tv mounted on the wall, separates a small kitchen and dining area from an equally small living area. Big windows that stream natural light into the space. There are two doors to their right which Theo assumes are a bedroom and a bathroom. It’s actually fairly nice—although he shouldn’t have expected less from Boris, who definitely has a taste for nice things now that he has some money—but it isn’t excessive either.

It’s in the details that Theo sees more of Boris—the eclectic decorations, half so random Theo doesn’t even know where Boris managed to find them and half just painfully tacky; the stacks of books piled on the coffee table, a mix of different language titles; a large standing glass kitchen cabinet filled with a variety of different liquors.

“This is nice,” Theo says, as he surveys the apartment.

“Course it is, you think I live in some dump, Potter?”

Theo glares at him, not even bothering to argue.

“Just kidding, no need to get twisted panties. Is nice place yes, was not easy to find but I had connections.” Boris kicks off his shoes in the general direction of the shoe rack. “You like it though?” Boris asks as he makes his way to the couch.

“Yeah. Your decorating is shit though,” Theo says, following Boris’ suit and leaving his shoes by the door before joining him on the couch.

“Is not shit!” Boris exclaims. “Look at this,” he gestures to a dog shaped vase on the coffee table that Theo hadn’t even noticed in the midst of the books around it. “Is a dog! Hilarious! I named Popchik, in honour of our little friend. May he rest in peace the little bastard. Wish I had been able to say last goodbye, but such is life.” Boris sighs, lost in a moment of silence for Popchik.

“Ah! And look at this!” He jumps up from the couch, his mourning apparently over. He points to a pot on the windowsill that says ‘weed’ on it. “Is funny, no? And not even weed in it. Ha!” He laughs at his own joke.

“None of that proves your point,” Theo says, slightly overwhelmed by just how _Boris_ everything is.

“Well, you only like old things, so you wouldn’t like,” Boris says, almost petulantly. He joins Theo back on the couch, sitting closer this time than they were sitting before. “Do you want to watch movie?” He seems genuinely excited by the suggestion and Theo has the sudden feeling that they’re back in Vegas, sitting on his couch, arguing about nothing, then forgetting all about it a moment later and watching movies together.

Though sitting here almost ten years later in Boris’ apartment, surrounded by all of Boris’ things and his smell, Theo feels something strange stir in his chest. Boris is sitting close enough that Theo can feel the heat radiating off of him. It’s Boris’s hand, tugging at his hair that snaps Theo out of his thoughts.

“Potter, you listeni—” Boris doesn’t get the chance to finish his question.

Without thinking about it, Theo leans in and kisses Boris. It feels almost like the reverse of the night Theo left—the suddenness of it, and the suddenness with which it ends. Boris’ hand goes slack, slips from Theo’s hair, and almost as quickly as Theo had leaned in, he’s pulling away.

“Boris, I’m—” Theo doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what he’s just done. Boris is sitting in front of him, mouth agape, staring at him. “I don’t— I’m sorry. I should go.”

He moves to stand up, but before he can fully rise, Boris grabs his wrist.

“No, no. Shhh, Potter” He protests when Theo tries to protest and pull away from his grip. He tugs Theo back down onto the couch. “Sit. Was nice.” He’s grinning at Theo, a look in his eye that Theo can’t quite identify but knows is familiar.

Half the feeling in his chest, is a panic that’s growing with every second that passes as Theo processes what he’s just done. But the other half, something more pleasant, which he isn’t quite able to identify—and is what, he’s sure, compelled him to kiss Boris in the first place—is still fighting valiantly to stay lodged in its original place behind his ribs, pushing back against the panic.

Before Theo has the chance to think about it anymore, Boris leans in and kisses him again, though just as short and chaste as the last kiss. “Is nice, no?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle—the way it was in the night when he would soothe Theo after he would wake panicked from nightmares.

Boris tips his head forward to bring their foreheads together, an places his hand on the back of Theo’s neck. Theo leans in the small distance now between them to kiss Boris again, their noses knock together and it takes a moment for them to properly figure it out, but Theo has to agree with Boris, it is nice.

When they part again, Boris stares at Theo for a moment, studying him, his own cheeks flushed and his hand still on the back of Theo’s neck.

“Took you almost ten years to return a little kiss, Theo. Will be fifty years before we make it to hand jobs, and we’ll be ninety by the time we have actual sex.” Boris jokes, still holding Theo in place close to him.

Theo chokes on his own spit. “Who said anything about any of that?” Theo manages to splutter out incredulously, jerking backwards out of Boris’ grip.

“Well, would be nice, no?” Boris replies, shifting forward to press against Theo, practically climbing into his lap.

Theo is barely able to hold back a groan at the feeling of Boris’s body against him. From this position, Boris is looking down at Theo, and when he rolls his hips forward a little at Theo’s lack of a response, Theo can feel that Boris is growing just as hard as he is.

“Yeah, I guess it would be nice,” Theo manages to say without any embarrassing gasps interjecting—not that Boris made that easy for him, rocking his hips in a slow rhythm against Theo’s once he started talking.

It’s almost a little sad how quickly Theo’s responding to Boris’ touch, but he ignores that for now, instead focussing on how good it feels to have Boris’ warm heat on top of him.

Theo does his best to ignore all the nagging thoughts about everything wrong with this, and instead focusses on kissing Boris, and touching Boris, and trying not to do anything embarrassing when Boris reciprocates.

It’s surprisingly easy to do in the end. Theo gets so caught up in _Boris_ and the _feeling_ and _pleasure_ of it all that his mind is empty of everything but those three things. Not even when they pause to move from the couch to the bed does Theo find himself worrying, he’s instead too caught up in the giddy excitement he feels at the sight of Boris stripping down and climbing into bed and beckoning Theo after him.

After they’d finished though, and the pleasure and the thrill had worn off, Theo had well and truly panicked.

“Hah! I myself am poof now! And you! Potter!” Boris is—and Theo can only describe it this way—cackling, hardly able to breath or speak properly as he tries to tell Theo this revelation of his. It reminds Theo almost painfully of Vegas. Him and Boris so drunk or high or both that everything in the world had made them bubble over with such uncontainable joy that they’d spend hours laughing at nothing until they were sore and breathless.

“Funny no, that we talk of poofters, only to become them.” Boris continues, calming slightly from his near manic seeming state. “Is no surprise to me though. May sound funny to you, but you’re the only one, in all this time. Only true one.”

Theo isn’t sure if it’s the fact that he’s still coming down from what they’ve just done that’s making what Boris is saying almost incomprehensible to him, the sudden tide of panic he can feel growing in him, or if Boris is truly making no sense.

“I’m not a poof,” Theo says, more petulantly than he had meant it to sound.

“Hah! And we have not made love!” Boris is laughing still, thought at Theo this time.

The phrase _made love_ grates on Theo, makes his stomach churn in an unpleasant way.

He was being serious. He wishes Boris would actually listen.

“I mean it, I’m not gay. _This_ was different.” Theo protests.

“Yes, yes,” Boris agrees, his head bobbing sagely, mocking Theo. “We only fuck while we wait for wives. We are very heterosexual.” He dissolves into laughter again.

Theo stays silent. Tries to clamp down on the panic he can feel growing in his chest. He takes slow even breaths.

“Potter, have I melted your brain?” Boris reaches over and raps his knuckles against Theo’s temple. Theo swats him away, but Boris is seemingly unfazed and leans back against the headboard still giggling.

“Boris just be serious for once,” Theo snaps.

“Okay, am serious,” Boris surrenders, suddenly somber. “Hand on heart,” he insists at Theo’s silence.

Theo feels vulnerable in the sudden silence, still naked and half wrapped in the flat sheet. Boris has seen him naked hundreds of times over the course of their knowing each other, so it really doesn’t matter, but Theo is afraid to leave the bed and expose himself to get dressed in front of Boris all of a sudden.

All he wants to do is leave, but instead he sits in silence, trying to fight the sudden urge to be sick.

He isn’t sure if he likes this somber Boris. He rarely see him like this, silent, and the complete opposite from his usual bubbly self, different even from the quiet and focused Boris he’s witnessed a few times.

This is Boris dampened. Him sitting silent and somber in the bed next to him, all the usual energy he exudes gone. Theo feels like he’s smothered him.

This is part of the problem he thinks. They aren’t kids anymore. Things have changed and they can’t be what they used to be and Theo doesn’t know what they can be now.

“Is much better now,” Boris says pensively a few moments later, cutting through the thick silence between them. He’s referring to what they’ve just done, Theo is sure. “But you are upset now.”

“I’m not,” Theo says, suddenly wishing he hadn’t said anything, that Boris hadn’t noticed his discomfort. He’s being stupid. All of this is stupid.

“Was it not good?” Boris asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“That’s not it,” Theo says. He doesn’t want to talk about this with Boris. He doesn’t even know what _it_ is.

He gets up suddenly, struggling to untangle himself from the sheets while also trying to keep his back to Boris. He feels shame at his naked state that he hasn’t felt since probably the first time he’d ever stripped in front of Boris, years ago in Vegas. And even then, his discomfort had been more adolescent awkwardness and the fear of being seen by another person, than it is this sick feeling that’s coiling in Theo’s gut.

“I need to go,” Theo explains abruptly as he tries to get dressed.

A heavy, suffocating feeling has fallen over them. It feels as if a lead blanket is smothering the room. Even Theo’s limbs feel heavy with his shame at himself and his guilt for leaving Boris.

“Potter,” Boris tries to protest as Theo yanks his pants on, nearly falling when his foot gets caught in the leg, barely catching himself in time to stop him from falling and knocking his head against the bedside table. His stupid, patterned, casual pants.

He pulls his shirt on quickly, getting it stuck over his head briefly in his haste to pull it on and to avoid Boris’ gaze.

“Bye, Boris.” Theo doesn’t bother to put his socks on, just crushes them in his fist as he practically bolts from the bedroom, leaving Boris alone in the rapidly cooling bed.

In all honesty, there was little difference between what they had just done, and what they used to do in Vegas. The problem was, this time it was more real—less a hazy dream made up of static electricity and foggy vision and fumbling touches in the dark that they both pretended weren’t deliberate. They hadn’t stumbled into it together and then drifted to sleep still sweat stuck together in the thin cotton sheets of Theo’s bed. They’d come to Boris’ place with the intention of doing something (Because, in all honesty, Theo knew that Boris didn’t want to _just_ show him his place). They’d chosen to do this thing together, and Theo had been hyper aware if every moment of it, present and enjoying it in a way he hadn’t when he was younger.

Now though, in the aftermath, the vivid memories of it all are souring, and all Theo can feel is the sticky sweat still on his skin and the soggy weight of his hair where it’s stuck to his forehead, and all he wants to do it shower and curl up alone somewhere.

Boris’ embrace had once been a comfort to him, but the thought of the weight of him, another person, another _man_, right now makes his stomach knot.

He stumbles out into the street, blinking confusedly at the bright afternoon light for a moment. The memory of their haste—the seeming _need_ to see more, feel more, have more of Boris—is making Theo feel so sick with shame that he has to stop for a moment to breathe through the wave of nausea that overcomes him.

Theo is disgusted with himself, with what he’s done.

The worst part is, he doesn’t even truly know why. He admitted to himself years ago that he loved Boris, and he’d thought he’d accepted that fact. But now, faced with Boris once again and able to fully act on his feelings, Theo finds himself balking at even the thought of it. Which leaves him feeling disgusted with himself for what he’s just done, for what he and Boris had done _together_. He can’t believe he did that.

He wasn’t lying when he told Boris it wasn’t bad. In fact, it had been more enjoyable than it had ever been with any of the women he’d slept with in the past, even with all their clumsy maneuvering and awkward moments. There’s something about Boris that Theo can’t quite explain that makes even the least ideal things seem much better than they are as long as he’s a part of it.

Despite this though, Theo still can’t rid himself of the sick coil in the pit of his stomach in the aftermath of what they’ve just done.

In a way it feels similar to Amsterdam. It’s as if the world is made up of just Theo and Boris, and Theo has just done a terrible thing again and he’s unable to take it back or fix it. He feels again the insistent urge to check over his shoulder as he walks aimlessly down the streets of Boris’ neighbourhood, sure that the evidence of what he’s just done is written clearly all over him for everyone he passes to see. He’s afraid that others will look at him and know what he’s done. Afraid of what others knowing will mean.

Ultimately, Theo is afraid of the fact that what Boris had said is true. He is a poof. He _is _gay, as he had so vehemently denied to himself all throughout his life—he hadn’t even let himself think of the possibility most of the time, but on the rare occasion that the thought slipped into his mind, he was so swift to crush it that he’d never even given himself the chance to confront it.

This denial, coupled with his admittance to himself of his feelings towards Boris all those years ago, has resulted in a strange cognitive dissonance that allowed him to go so far as sleeping with Boris before realizing what that meant and being slammed face first into the glaring meaning of his actions.

When they were in Vegas they had been lonely. They’d only had each other and they were teenagers and horny and almost never sober, and sometimes that had lead to them fooling around with each other. It was never anything much, and it was always in the dark with neither of them ever fully committing to anything, both of them hiding behind the weak deniability of hesitant hands and uncharacteristically soft fleeting touches. Theo had never had to admit to himself what all of that meant, even after he’d acknowledged his feelings. After all, they’d never talked about it, so surely it hadn’t meant anything.

Now however, Theo doesn’t have anything to hide behind. He had chosen to sleep with Boris, had wanted to even, and he doesn’t know what to do with this fact.

He has to fight the rise of bile at the thought.

Theo isn’t sure where he’s going. He’s wandering aimlessly through this neighbourhood he barely knows, the wet chill of early spring starting to sink uncomfortably into his bones.

He stumbles into a park and finds himself sitting on a damp bench. He can barely remember making the decision to enter. He doesn’t know how long he sits there. Long enough for the sick clench of shame to numb into a hazy but familiar fog of general apathy.

At one point two men walk by with a dog, hand in hand and smiling stupidly at each other, obviously a couple. Theo does his best not to stare at their backs after they pass, but he definitely looks for too long. He doesn’t feel anything but contempt for their relationship. He wants that, his bitterness proves it, but when he tries to imagine himself and Boris doing the same, walking Popchik hand in hand in some park, his stomach gives a warning lurch towards his previous nausea. It’s all too easy to see himself and Boris in them, and that scares Theo.

He had never truly considered the idea of being with a man until he’d seen Boris again. Despite his feelings for him when he was a teenager, Theo had brushed them off as the result of them both being lonely and spending too much time together. He’d thought them a result of all the booze and drugs, not a true reflection of how he actually felt.

It was after he’d returned from Amsterdam and Antwerp that the thought had even crossed his mind. With the official dissolution of his relationship with Kitsey, and his waning infatuation with Pippa, he’d finally had the room to consider other options, and besides remaining single, his thoughts had repeatedly drifted back to Boris.

He would think back to Vegas, and the ache that had lodged itself inside him when he had gotten into that taxi without Boris. He would think back to his panic when he thought he was losing Boris in Amsterdam. He would think back to his blur of a day in Antwerp, how despite the circumstances it was one of the best days he’d had in a while, purely for the company and the nostalgia of being alone and barely sober in a shitty apartment with Boris once again.

He would think about how he wouldn’t mind doing that again and again. Lowkey days spent with Boris eating shitty food and watching shitty tv next to each other on a shitty couch.

Even then however, he hadn’t thought of it as _being_ with a man. He’d thought of it as being with Boris, and not in a romantic way, just in their way.

Sleeping with Boris though. That had been something Theo had never thought would happen. He’d been so caught up in _Boris_ and his stupid perfectly tailored shirt and his new haircut that had suited him so well, and then his _apartment_, which had just been so _him_, that he hadn’t even thought in the moment.

It was in the aftermath, when he finally processed what he’d just done, that all the negative feelings had settled in.

The problem wasn’t the fact that it was Boris. It _being_ Boris is the whole reason anything happened in the first place. Theo could say the problem was the fact that Boris is a man, but he knows that deep down, that doesn’t even quite encompass the monumental shame and sickness Theo felt afterwards.

His problem is with himself

He realized that sleeping with Boris, and _wanting_ to sleep with Boris, made him something different. And it terrified him.

He had spent so long curating an image for himself. Admittedly, he had done a lot to risk it, to tarnish it, but this _thing_ about him isn’t something he can move on from the way the other things had been. He can’t put his head down and wait it out. Can’t make any amends to anyone. It will follow him, brand him, _define_ him even.

He’s afraid of what others will think, what they will see, if they know this part of him.

By the time Theo gets home, the apathetic fog he’d settled into in the park has lifted, leaving him again feeling shameful and dirty once more. He immediately locks himself in the bathroom and twists the shower onto a boiling spray. He strips down quickly, avoiding his reflection in the mirror and leaves his clothing in a piled heap on the floor before climbing into the shower.

He scrubs himself nearly raw under the scalding spray, desperately trying to rid himself of the feeling of Boris’ skin against his, the memory of the pleasure of it all, and the guilt at that pleasure. He feels almost panicked in his need to clean himself of the act.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this, like something has _happened_ to him. He had chosen to do this with Boris. He had been more than willing. He has no right to feel dirty because of it, yet he can’t seem to get the water hot enough to burn the uneasy feeling out from under his skin.

After his shower, Theo can only find the energy to climb into bed, despite it being only four in the afternoon. He doesn’t bother to get dressed, doesn’t even bother to remove his towel, just lies down wrapped in it on top of his blankets until his skin dries into a chill. Eventually, he pulls one of his blankets over himself, still not bothering to move or get dressed.

He could really go for a drink right now, or maybe a bottle of something. What would be better is a few pills, but he doesn’t have any of those left and he doesn’t have the energy to search out any alcohol. Instead, he lies in bed, staring blankly at the wall, trying to make sense of why he’s still feeling so disgusted with himself.

He doesn’t manage to make it out of bed that night.

At one point, Hobie pokes his head in to check on him. Theo tells him he’s just coming down with a bug and is just trying for an early night, then shoos off all of Hobie’s offers of soup and drugstore medications.

He knows he’s trying to be nice, that he’s just looking out for him, but Theo doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, and he breathes a sigh of relief at the click of the door closing behind Hobie.

The next day, when Theo finally manages to drag himself from bed at noon, he finds Hobie in the kitchen making himself lunch.

“How are you feeling today?” He asks, pausing his sandwich making to watch Theo drag a chair out from the table and flop down into it.

“Fine I guess.” He gets up again, to make himself tea.

“Do you want one too?” Hobie asks, gesturing to the sandwich he’s making.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Theo says as he pulls a mug out of the cupboard and drops a teabag into it.

“Make sure you get something to eat,” Hobie reminds him gently. He finishes making his sandwich and sits down across from Theo’s spot.

The water begins to boil in the kettle and Theo pours it over his tea before sitting back down. He plays with the string of the teabag, bobbing it in and out of the water.

“Did you see Boris yesterday?” Hobie asks.

Theo freezes momentarily, his tea halfway to his mouth, before catching himself and putting the mug down with a small thump. Some tea sloshes over the edge onto the table.

“Yeah,” he finally replies, somewhat awkwardly. He’s staring at the spill, hoping he hasn’t gone as red as he feels like he has at he mention of Boris. He tries to hide behind his mug as he actually takes a sip of tea. It’s too hot and he burns his tongue on it.

“And how was it?” Hobie asks, politely ignoring Theo’s odd reaction to his previous question. “It’s been a while since you last saw each other, no?”

“Yeah, it had been a while. It was fine,” Theo says distractedly. He mops up his spill with a napkin.

He scrapes his chair back from the table suddenly. Throws out the soggy napkin before turning back to Hobie. “I’m going to go open the shop.”

“Theo,” Hobie calls after him as he reaches the doorway.

Theo turns to face him.

“Your tea.”

Theo returns to the table and grabs it. “Thanks.”

Hobie meets his eye. “And if you ever need to talk, you know I’m here.”

Theo nods his head jerkily. “Of course,” he says, but he doesn’t really sounds like he means it.

Hobie doesn’t bring up Boris, or Theo’s sudden illness after seeing him again after their short talk earlier in the week despite Theo’s obviously weird behaviour, something for which Theo is extremely grateful. He can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how much booze he tries to drown himself in, no matter how busy he tries to keep himself with the shop and helping Hobie. Despite all his efforts, Theo keeps thinking back to Boris, and what they’d done together, and how he’d felt through it all.

He’d been overcome with an insurmountable _want_ for Boris, then just as quickly panic after he’d acted on it. And yet, when Boris had kissed him back, the panic had all disappeared. Everything after that had been Boris and desire and a desperate _need_ for more. Of course there had been a few times when he’d realized what they were doing, who he was with, and the panic had started to creep back in. But then Boris would kiss him, or do something that sparked pleasure unlike any he’d ever experienced with any woman, and Theo would get lost again in his desire and Boris, any hint of fear gone.

Afterwards though, all the fear he’d brushed aside had come back to him in a sudden wave. All of a sudden he was awash with it, unable to feel anything else. What was he if he wanted Boris? They’d certainly crossed a few lines. No longer will Theo be able to hide behind their friendship when looking back at half their memories together. Now all of a sudden, half of the time they’d ever spent together is washed in a new light, a new perspective—one where they are not friends, but two boys, dancing around something neither of them will admit.

Theo had admitted to himself long ago that he’d loved Boris, but he’d never let himself go past that, never let himself actually explore what that meant. Maybe that is part of the reason Theo had been so unable to control himself at Boris’.

He feels stupid really, for kissing him like that. If he hadn’t done it none of it would have happened and they would have sat and watched a movie together like old times, and sure Theo would have done it weighed down on the couch by that feeling in his chest.

Although Theo could argue that acting on it had ultimately made him feel worse than ignoring it possibly could have. He’s made it this long without ever acknowledging it, why did he have to do something all of a sudden?

He’s realized now though, that he wants Boris. He wants him around, and in his life, and beside him all the time. He wants to touch him again, despite the fear that still mingles with the desire that stirs in his stomach at the thought. He wants to see him again, see all of him. Hear him, whether he’s rambling about stupid shit like his legs being stretched by walking or gasping Theo’s name.

The problem is, as much as Theo wants him, and is now acknowledging it. He can’t shake the sick feeling that comes along with admitting it to himself. He _shouldn’t_ want Boris. He’s his friend, he’s not supposed to do that. He’s not supposed to feel that way about a man.

Theo has no need to want a man. He’d been with many women, and had enjoyed it enough, he’d been engaged to a woman, though that was less enjoyable—he had absolutely no reason to want anything from a man, and yet, he wanted Boris, almost desperately.

The worst part of it is, Theo thinks, is he’s known this since Vegas. He admitted to himself a long time ago that he loved Boris. But then he’d come back to New York, and Pippa had been here, and she was pretty and sweet and maybe Theo had some misplaced feelings towards her because of the accident, so he’d been able to convince himself what he had felt for Boris was a different kind of love. He’d been able to push it to the back of his mind, ignore it, pretend it had never happened. And then he’d reconnected with Kitsey and it had just made sense to be with her, so he had.

In hindsight, part of the reason he’d tried to make it work so badly was because he’d been able to convince himself that if he was with Kitsey that meant there was nothing different about him. He wouldn’t be with her if he didn’t truly want to be, is how he’d justified it to himself.

Now though, with everything laid out in his head, the truth is clear to Theo, and it terrifies him. He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he still loves Boris, and in a way he never has with anyone else. What he feels for Boris is comfortable and warm beneath the layers of guilt and shame and fear he’s buried it under.

He doesn’t mean to talk to Hobie about it, but he’s trying to work and he’s distracted and Hobie clearly can tell, and before he even really thinks about it, Theo is blurting out: “I loved Boris in Vegas.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Feels sick with shame for admitting it out loud, a truth he’s held so close to his heart for so many years it had gotten lodged deep enough inside that extracting it to share has proven painful.

For a moment, he and Hobie just stand in silence. Hobie puts down the saw he had had in his hand and considers Theo.

“You have been through a lot together, have you not? It seems only natural to me that you would form a connection.”

“It was more than that,” Theo admits.

“I see. Did you tell him when you saw him? Is that what was wrong?” Hobie asks the questions gently, like he doesn’t want to scare Theo off before they get the chance to talk.

“I shouldn’t feel that way about him should I?” Theo asks quietly. “I’m not that person. I’m not like that. I had a fiancée, but then he shows up and all of a sudden everything is a mess. And I let it all happen.”

“Theo, you and Kitsey had problems before Boris came back. And if you still feel that way about him, is it not a beautiful thing, that it has lasted so long? There is no specific type of person who feels this way, and it’s not something that you do or don’t let happen to you.” Hobie pauses for a moment, and the silence between them is thick. “You know, I still tell most people Welty was my business partner. He was more than that though, a lot more. Though I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. I feel guilty about it a lot of the time, but it’s difficult. Of course times are changing, but it’s hard to break old habits, to leave your comfort zone. I want you to be happy though, Theo. I want you to have better than I got. I don’t know what that means for you, but I hope you can figure it out, and let yourself have it. You’ve had a lot of bad, it’s time you let yourself have some good too.”

“I’m scared, Hobie.” Theo says, saying the thing that has been plaguing him most.

“It’s never easy, Theo. But you’ll regret it a long time if you let that stop you from trying.”

It takes Theo a week before he can bring himself to call Boris. When he finally does, it’s late on a Thursday evening and he’s sitting in the dark of his room, staring at a wall after an hour of working himself up to it. He doesn’t know what to say to him.

“Potter?” Boris asks, confused. “Why’re you calling me?”

Theo doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know why he’s calling.

“Hello?” Boris asks, louder than before. “Potter?”

“Uh, yeah,” Theo says awkwardly. “Hi.”

He’s clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles ache.

“I wanted to say sorry.” He voice sounds garbled even to his own ears.

“Why apologize? For last week? Is nothing Potter.” Theo can tell Boris is lying. If it was nothing he wouldn’t have remembered what Theo could have to apologize for.

“It wasn’t nothing, Boris. I panicked. I’m sorry for leaving.”

“I’m not upset you left,” Boris says, and now Theo can hear the hurt creeping into Boris’ voice.

“It was shitty of me to do. I don’t know why I did it.”

“Is fine. I called you poofter.”

“That’s not why I left.”

“Then was bad.”

“I told you it wasn’t bad,” Theo says, starting to get exasperated. With himself for not being able to say what was wrong, and with Boris, for trying to blame himself when Theo is trying to apologize.

A silence draws out between them.

“I’m not upset. We’re older. Is different now. We tried, no? It didn’t work.” Boris’ words echo what Theo had been thinking himself when he first panicked.

“But it _did_,” Theo protests. “We’re older, and we’re different, but _it’s _not different. I still feel the same as I did in Vegas,” Theo rushes out.

He hears Boris’ breathe catch on the other end of the line.

_The two of them, breathless and giddy, racing to strip of their clothes and pull the other closer again. Theo, whispering to Boris in the small space between them as Boris straddles his hips in the bed, _I loved you in Vegas_. Boris, staring down at him for a second then practically smothering him as he pushed himself impossibly closer to Theo—crushed his confession between their lips._

“Then what, Potter?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Theo admits. “I want to try again though. I need to do something different though. I need to slow down.”

Boris is silent for a long moment, and Theo is half afraid he’s not going to say anything. Things had never been slow between them, and Theo isn’t sure Boris will want to wait for him.

“Different this time,” Boris says thoughtfully. “Is different, so we’ll do different.”

Theo is half afraid Boris means different as in platonic, something he isn’t sure they ever really did, but is sure he doesn’t want to do with Boris.

“I will take you on date. You will be my prince,” Boris says triumphantly.

“Uh—” Theo begins to protest.

“Hah! Wizard Potter was prince.” Boris interrupts, laughing at his own observation, before Theo can say anything.

“What the fuck Boris, no he wasn’t,” Theo argues, confused and distracted from what he had been about to say.

“There’s whole book about it. Is in the title,” Boris argues back.

“He wasn’t the prince though. Snape was the prince. And he wasn’t even a prince he just called himself that.”

“No. Potter was the Halfbody _Prince_, or however he was called. But a prince!” Boris sounds much too happy with himself and this stupid line of conversation.

“I don’t think you read anything past the first book.” Theo says, flopping onto his back from his uncomfortably stiff perch on the edge of his bed.

“I read many books, Potter, can’t read them all.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Is not like you have read them,” Boris counters.

“I’ve seen the movies though, and Harry was never a fucking prince. He was the Chosen One.”

“Ack, all the same. Is not the point. You are Potter, and now also prince.”

“I would really prefer you don’t call me that ever again,” Theo protests.

“Fine, fine,” Boris assents. “Will just go out together, and will be slow now. Just Boris and Potter.”

Theo smiles, unable to help himself. He still isn’t sure what he and Boris will be. He doesn’t think anything like _boyfriend_ or _partner_ will ever fully describe what he and Boris are to each other. But he’s realized, despite the fear, and the shame and the guilt that still clings to him, he wants Boris, and that feeling in his chest that fights against the panic when they’re together more than he wants to hide away from the bad. Theo would rather try than continue suffering and denying himself.

Now that Boris is within reach, and they’ve breached the thing they’ve never spoken about before, Theo wants to keep Boris close, and he’ll fight to do that.

_Just Boris and Potter_, he likes the sound of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is basically from shakespeare's sonnet 95, this is the first fic ive finished so please be nice and if you like it let me know


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the date they go on after their phone call

Letting himself _be _with Boris is easier said than done Theo finds. As nice as it would have been to have had their talk, and then been perfectly okay, Theo finds himself sick with nerves at the thought of seeing Boris face to face again.

He knows it’s stupid. It was stupid before when his nerves had been over a few months of separation (a clear nonissue given the amount of time between Vegas and their first reunion), and it’s especially stupid now when things are objectively ideal between them—everything out in the open, and both in mutual agreement about what they want. Despite this though, Theo can’t shake the wave of anxiety that overwhelms him every time he thinks about seeing Boris face to face again.

They’ve been texting since their call. Not much, since Theo isn’t really one to text and Boris is terrible with remembering to check his phone. But they’ve texted enough to have planned a dinner out to a fairly nice restaurant—the result of Boris’ insistence that he needs to take Theo out _properly_.

Theo can’t tell if the small amount of contact has made his anxiety better or worse.

It’s been nearly two weeks since their call, and three since their last _encounter_, yet Theo feels as if the day has come all too quickly. Theo had put off the day they planned for in a foolish attempt to give himself more time to process—something which has only proved to heighten his nerves, rather than soothe them—and he finds himself regretting it now.

He tries distracting himself with choosing a tie. He doesn’t want Boris to think he’s dressed for a business meeting, but he doesn’t want to be underdressed either. He feels like a teenaged girl choosing her outfit for her first ever date. He feels stupid.

He chooses a random tie. Boris won’t care, he knows this. He’ll probably poke fun at the fact that Theo is even wearing a tie.

Should he wear a tie?

He puts the tie back down. Picks it up.

He’s being stupid again.

He begins to tie the tie around his neck, before pausing yet again. What should he wear? He doesn’t want to look like he’s dressing for work, but he also doesn’t want to look like he hasn’t made an effort. Although, the fact that he’s wearing a tie will be effort enough in Boris’ book Theo is sure.

He ties a basic knot before checking his appearance in the mirror.

He looks like he always does—though he’s wearing one of his nicer suits, not one of his every day work ones, and he’s pushed his hair back and out from his face in an effort to style it a little more.

He looks good he thinks.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking so much about it. Boris has seen him at his worst, has seen him _naked_. It’s not like Boris will see him and think he looks like he’s been on a weeklong bender. Boris probably won’t even care. Theo is just overthinking it because they’re going _out _together.

He needs to stop obsessing over this. He had meant to leave five minutes ago, before he’d gotten stuck on his tie decision.

He takes one more moment before he leaves. Takes a deep breathe. Then swings his coat on and heads out the door.

He arrives at Boris’ apartment to pick him up a few minutes earlier than they had planned, despite his late departure from his place. He debates, for a moment, waiting down in the lobby until the right time before heading up to Boris’ place, but then decides against it. He would just be putting off the inevitable of seeing Boris face to face again.

His stomach lurches as he steps into the elevator. When he reaches Boris’ floor, he spends so much time trying to work himself to just _step off_ the elevator, that he has to catch the door so it doesn’t close before he gets the chance to get off.

The walk down the hall to Boris’ place feels both infinite and momentary. He reaches his door all too soon, yet after what felt like the longest walk of his life, despite it only being a few metres.

When he knocks, it takes Boris a few moments to get the door. Theo feels sick with anxiety in the seconds before the door swings open—convinces himself Boris isn’t going to answer and he’s going to be left alone in the hallway.

The door swings open.

Boris’ shirt is half unbuttoned and he has no socks on.

“Potter? You’re early.” He says, confused.

“Oh,” is all Theo can bring himself to say. He had sworn he was only a few minutes early, but from Boris’ current state that can’t be right.

He checks the time on his phone—stares at the screen dumbly. He’s twenty minutes early somehow, he must have been reading the clock wrong earlier in his nervous state.

“You just going to stand in door like vampire? I need to invite you in?” Boris asks, shooing Theo inside and closing the door behind him.

Theo kicks his shoes off at Boris’ pointed look, before following him inside. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the space, unsure of what to do.

Boris starts towards his bedroom, before turning back to face Theo from the doorway. “You look terrible, Potter. Are you here to spread diseases to me?” Boris says, studying him from afar.

A jolt of ice shoots through Theo. He looks terrible? He smooths his tie self consciously.

“I didn’t wear patterned pants this time.” He half jokes nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“Your face,” Boris says like it’s obvious. He walks back towards Theo and puts his hand over his forehead. “You are white like sheet. Not hot though.” He pulls his hand away.

“I’m nervous,” Theo admits quietly. He hadn’t been planning on telling Boris that, sure he would brush it off—_We’ve_ _had sex! Lived together! And you’re nervous for dinner? Ha, Potter! You are strange creature_.

Instead, Boris puts a hand to Theo’s shoulder. “Is just me, you don’t have to be nervous,” he says gently.

Theo leans into his touch.

“I know, it’s just—” Theo doesn’t actually know what to say. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He’s been telling himself over and over the same thing Boris has just said: _It’s just Boris, no reason to be nervous_. But he can’t help the nerves still coiled in his gut. “I’m not nervous because it’s you. It’s doing _this_. It’s going out. It’s going _out_ and being where other people will see.”

The thing between himself and Boris, whatever it may be, has always been a private thing; Him and Boris in Vegas together, the two of them against the world; Him and Boris in Amsterdam together, the parking garage, the car, his room; Him and Boris in Antwerp together, in Boris’ shitty flat; Him and Boris at Boris’ apartment here in New York together, just the two of them.

Theo is still trying to even let himself _have_ this thing, and the thought of others seeing it, he realizes, is what is terrifying him.

He tips his forehead down against Boris’.

Boris shifts his hands from Theo’s shoulder to the back of his neck, holding him in place.

“Is okay, Theo, we’re going slow. No need to be nervous.”

For a moment they stay like that. Silent, foreheads together. And in that moment, the nerves that have been plaguing Theo for weeks seem to fade away. They’re here, in Boris’ apartment just existing.

Theo and Boris, and Boris and Theo.

Boris leans back, grins at Theo, then pulls his hand away.

“I know what we will do.” He says. “We stay here. Watch movies, order food. Whatever. Stay here though.”

“But our reservation,” Theo tries to protest.

“You want to go to reservation and be sick, and have terrible time? I will be here while you do that, and you can join me when you’re done.”

“You’re not upset that we’re not going out?” Theo asks.

“I don’t care about that, Potter. Is boring anyway, have to sit in the dark and get interrupted all the time. No good. We will eat good food here. Is not bad for me.” He shrugs.

“You were the one who insisted we go out though.” Theo really doesn’t know why he’s arguing. He wants to stay here with Boris, he doesn’t _want_ to go out.

“Is no big deal. Can go out another time. This time will be like old times, no? But better now.”

“I don’t really thing any of our old times are a very high bar to beat.” Theo says, but he’s smiling now.

“That’s why will be better.” Boris taps his head with a finger. “I will go change now, no need for buttons anymore,” he says, starting to undo the few buttons on his shirt that had been done as he heads back towards his room.

He appears back in the doorway a moment later wearing sweatpants and pulling a t-shirt over his head. “And you! Ack! You can’t be wearing this now. You will ruin.” He gestures to Theo’s suit. “Here, borrow from me.” He disappears for a moment then returns with a ball of clothing that he throws to Theo.

Theo catches it and stands dumbly in the middle of Boris’ apartment, not sure what to do with himself.

“I will find movie.” Boris says, gesturing Theo towards his now empty room as he makes his way past him to the couch.

Theo closes the door softly behind him and takes a moment to breathe before setting the bundle of clothing Boris had thrown him onto the bed so he can change. He had been so nervous about tonight and Boris is making it all so easy. They’d spent so long leaving things unsaid, but now that they’re being honest with each other things are even easier than they had been before—it shouldn’t be surprising, but Theo still finds himself a little caught off guard by the ease of it all.

Theo changes quickly into the t-shirt and sweats Boris had given to him. The pants are a little to short on him, but the shirt fits well enough. He considers going into Boris’ closet to finds hangers to hang his old clothes properly, but decides against it and instead opts to leave his clothes folded as neatly as he can on Boris’ dresser; They’ll survive a night of being folded.

When Theo walks back into the living space, he finds Boris sprawled across the couch, scrolling seemingly aimlessly through Netflix.

“Was easier when we couldn’t choose, Potter,” he whines when he notices Theo, his head hanging over the arm of the couch to look at him upside down.

“Didn’t ever expect to miss the shitty cable from Vegas,” Theo says, shoving Boris’ feet off the couch to make room for himself.

“Hey!” Boris protests as he half falls off the couch. “Is my house don’t forget! You can’t throw _me_ off _my_ couch.” He does his best to tackle Theo from his position half-on-half-off the couch, but just ends up throwing himself on top of Theo and squishing the air out of him more than anything.

“Get _off_,” Theo wheezes, shoving at him half heartedly.

“_Get off_” Boris mocks, not moving.

They end up ordering food before picking a movie—Chinese, and then some random thriller movie that neither of them really pays attention to.

They eat on the couch, legs overlapping between them, passing cartons back and forth between them, with the extras spread out on the coffee table in front of them.

At some point after they finish eating, Boris shifts to lean against Theo, resting his head on his shoulder and manhandling his arm around him. Theo stiffens at the contact at first, unsure of what to do. Of course he and Kitsey had cuddled at times, but somehow, this feels different—the race of his heart at the weight of Boris leaning against him foreign.

“Is okay, no?” Boris asks, looking up at him.

“Yes. Uh, yeah,” Theo says, bobbing his head a little more aggressively than would be natural.

“Good. You’re stiff like board, couldn’t tell,” Boris says. He shuffles himself around for a moment, his hand braced against Theo’s chest, trying to get comfortable.

“Oh, sorry,” Theo says, trying to relax, but with Boris this close, his hand pushing against him over his heart, the effort doesn’t do much.

“You’re always like that. Unless you’re sleeping. Never relax.” Boris says offhandedly with a contended sigh. He’s stopped squirming, apparently having found a comfortable position. “Am used to now, even after all these years. But good to check with you.”

Theo doesn’t know what to say to that so he stays silent.

It’s nice sitting like this with Boris, he thinks. And as the movie goes on, he thinks, maybe, he feels himself relax a little.

When the movie finishes, neither Boris nor Theo make any move to put something else on. Boris shifts a little, but ultimately settles back against Theo.

“Well, that was terrible movie,” he says matter-of-factly.

“So you don’t want to watch the sequel?” Theo asks, pointing to the trailer that’s about to auto play.

“Whole thing was stupid, how can there be sequel?”

Theo shrugs. “It’s right there, we can find out.”

“No. My brain will be melted if I watch more garbage,” Boris says forcefully, twisting to look up at Theo.

“Okay then, so are we done watching?” Theo asks.

“I think yes,” Boris says, still watching Theo.

“Okay,” Theo says, and starts to get up.

Boris pushes him back down with a hand to his chest and sits up halfway.

“What?” Theo asks at the look Boris is giving him.

“You aren’t leaving, no?” Boris is still leaning against him, keeping him pinned to his place on the couch.

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, “we finished the movie…” Theo trails off, unsure of what Boris is getting at.

“Is just, there’s more we can do besides movie,” Boris says,

“Boris,” Theo starts, “I don’t think—”

“Not that, stupid. We’re going slow. But there are still other things.” Boris gives him a look.

“Oh. Yeah,” Theo says, face flushing.

“If is okay with you?” Boris asks, leaning in.

“Just do it stupid,” Theo says, pulling Boris in with a hand on the back of his head.

They’re in an awkward position—Boris half on top of Theo, who’s melting into the couch—but they manage, (though they do end up adjusting to be more comfortable when one of Theo’s legs starts to go numb).

Later that night, in bed, Theo finds himself lying in the dark debating with himself. Him and Boris are lying side by side, close but carefully avoiding contact. The last time they were here together Theo had panicked, and being in the same space, though under different circumstances is still making him nervous.

Despite the fact that he’s sharing a bed with Boris, Theo feels lonely. They’d spent much of the evening in contact, and to now be keeping measured distances between them feels foreign. Theo wants to reach out but he’s afraid. He’s afraid to act on his impulses. He’s afraid Boris will pull away—something he knows for a fact is irrational, but fears nonetheless. He’s afraid that if he tries to reach out to Boris he’ll find, somehow, that he isn’t even there.

“Potter,” Boris whispers suddenly. “You’re thinking too loud.”

Theo rolls to face him, though he can’t see much. “I’m not doing anything,” he whispers back.

There’s no reason for them to be whispering, but it the dark of Boris’ room, it feels like anything else would break the delicate stillness around them.

“Can tell you’re thinking too hard. Is no big deal. This is just like old times. We’ve done this many times before and was always okay.”

By _this_, Boris means share a bed. And it’s true, they shared a bed more nights than not in Theo’s time in Vegas he’s sure, but something about this time feels different.

They’re lying in the same bed as if it’s two separate beds, and the small space between them feels vast in the dark. It feels cold lying alone when Theo knows Boris is right there.

“It’s not exactly like old times,” Theo starts hesitantly. He wants desperately to extend his arm, to seek out Boris’ warmth somehow. He wants the familiar weight of Boris’ leg thrown over his, Boris’ chest against his back—to be held by Boris.

He inches his hand into the space between them, closer to Boris.

“I miss you,” he says, but it’s not what he means because Boris is right there. What he meant to say: _come closer_.

“Am right here, Potter,” Boris says, and Theo hears more than see him shift to face him.

He tries again. “Not _right_ here, though.” He doesn’t know why he can’t just say what he wants.

Boris huffs out a small, quiet, laugh. “You’re needy, Potter.”

He moves closer though. Still not touching but closer. Close enough for Theo to feel heat radiating off him.

“Do you remember in Vegas, you would—” Theo cuts himself off, not wanting to actually say it, even though it’s the thing he wants. He rolls over so his back is to Boris, the shuffles backwards until he’s pressed into Boris—not far considering how close together they’d shifted. “Like this,” he says.

“Oh,” Boris says. A puff of breath over the back of Theo’s neck.

Boris hooks a leg over one of Theo’s and winds an arm over his chest to pull him closer.

“Yeah,” Theo says. It’s different now, both of them a little less boney, Boris a little less spindly, but it’s still familiar and comfortable.

“You should have just asked, Potter. Didn’t need to think panties into twist.” Boris murmurs, and his mouth is right behind Theo’s ear in this position and Theo can feel the rumble of Boris’ chest against his back when he speaks. “Don’t have to think so much,” he repeats.

“That seems to be what I do,” Theo admits, softly. He wishes he didn’t but he can’t seem to avoid the endless obstacles he creates for himself.

“Is okay, not upset. Just wanted you to know,” Boris says sleepily. He presses a kiss into Theo’s hair, and Theo shivers at the casual affection. This was something they never allowed themselves before. Something he’s almost never allowed himself ever.

“Goodnight, Potter.”

“Night, Boris,” Theo replies.

He falls asleep quickly, and sleeps dreamlessly until morning. Content and warm in Boris’ embrace.

* * *

They go to a nice restaurant together for their one month anniversary. Theo isn’t really the anniversary celebration type, but Boris insists, and it’s a good enough reason to do something nice together.

Since their first _official_ date at Boris’, they’ve spent a lot of similar evenings together, as well as gone out together for a few smaller, less formal dates—coffee together during one of Theo’s lunch breaks, a breakfast together before a flight of Boris’. Little things, that gradually turned into bigger things, and now finally this.

Theo is still nervous about going out with Boris on such an obvious date, but he’s also reached the point where he’s realized that the little bad that _could_ come of it, is to him, worth the enjoyment that he knows _will _come as well.

When they arrive at the restaurant for their reservation, the host doesn’t even react to the two of them together, just leads them to their table and wishes them a good night. It catches Theo off guard a little; He’s been so afraid of being judged and seen a certain way for dating a man—had been on guard as soon as they’d approached the restaurant—that nothing happening feels almost anticlimatic.

Boris grins at him from across the table as the host walks away, and Theo feels a matching smile grown on his face.

Their meal passes without incident, pleasant and intimate, and when it’s over, Theo doesn’t hesitate to invite himself home with Boris.

They’re outside the restaurant, and Theo doesn’t wait for Boris to lead the way back to his place. The night is dark but the city is bright around them, and they share a look as they walk together that says they both know why they’re rushing a little to make it back.

In a way, it’s similar to the morning of their brunch together, except this time, Theo isn’t ignoring anything, he wants and he loves, and he’s just letting himself be, and he’s excited about it.

He isn’t all the way there yet. He knows he’ll still feel nerves when out in public with Boris, will still feel the need to pull his hand away if someone glances in their direction. But he’s making an effort to let himself live a little more freely, to let himself have what he wants. And with every little thing he allows himself, things get a little easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had one last note at the end of my doc for the first chapter, and i wasn't planning on writing it but then a few people said they'd be Interested in a continuation so,,, here's that ! let me know what you think PLEASE because i am a fool who needs validation + i hope this isn't too ooc, it's a little soft but that's bc i'm soft lol

**Author's Note:**

> title is basically from shakespeare's sonnet 95, this is the first fic ive finished so please be nice and if you like it let me know :-) also come say hi to  
me on tumblr @biborispavlikovsly !!


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